


100 Poems for Zhangjing

by sydneycai



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Death, I BROKE MY HEART, M/M, Not proofread idk her, maybe i cried while writing this, this took me like a week to write, totga, 长得俊
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydneycai/pseuds/sydneycai
Summary: Yanjun has known Zhangjing for all his life and he couldn’t imagine a life without him until it happened.——————————————————————“The world is too good for you.” Yanjun said.“Are you serious?”“Yes.” He’d reply without fail. Always.





	100 Poems for Zhangjing

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to little do you know by alex and sierra, it matches the story :) also ocean eyes!

**Poem No. 1:**

 

_This is the house where we first met,_

_Both still growing and teeth still missing._

_This is the house where we first met,_

_When my heart first started beating._

 

 Yanjun remembers their first meeting all too well— a little boy transferring to a new neighborhood.

 

 Yanjun was six at that time— just the perfect age to be bossed around. He was helping his father set the table when they heard someone rapping at their door.

 

 These repetitive sounds continued on until his father ordered him to leave the tablemats and go answer the door.

 

 Yanjun was tall for his age, and he reached the doorknob with ease. As he opened the door, he saw a boy, probably the same age as him and a little on the chubby side.

 

 “Hello. My name is You Zhangjing.” The boy pronounced his words carefully, but his accent— Malaysian, he learns— still stuck out like a sore thumb. He extended his hand, but Yanjun stood there like a statue, unsure of what he’s going to do.

 

 Zhangjing blinked, dumbfounded, until he remembered the cake that his mother instructed him to deliver. He bended to get the container from their doorstep, pushing the cake to Yanjun’s chest.

 

 “We just moved here.” He pointed to the next apartment, and Yanjun remembered that the last residents were an elderly couple that decided to move to their children’s house.

 

 _“It’s too lonely here_ .” They said, while patting Yanjun’s head. He doesn’t understand _why_ , but he nods anyways.

 

 “Who’s there son?” A voice shouted from within. The door’s crack widened, allowing more of their house to be seen.

 

 A man appeared, around his mid-30’s. He had his arm around Yanjun protectively, as if he wasn’t speaking to someone his own age.

 

 The man looks around— left and right— and doesn’t spot Zhangjing until Yanjun tugged at the man’s clothes, directing his sight towards the boy.

 

 “I’m this kid’s father. Pretty sure that he didn’t introduce himself but his name is Lin Yanjun.” The father cracked a grin once he saw Zhangjing.

 

 Yanjun stomped his foot, harrumphed, and pulled his dad closer to whisper something in his ear. The collective term was whisper, but Zhangjing could hear his words clearly.

 

 “Why did you tell him my name? What if he’s a murderer?” Zhangjing gave a reproachful look, offended with what he said.

 

 His father bursted out laughing, clutching his stomach. After a few moments he stopped, leaving the two kids puzzled.

 

 “He’s harmless kid, and you should try whispering a bit quieter.” He used hand actions to emphasize _quieter._ Yanjun was miffed, but he was an obedient kid, and said nothing.

 

 “I am not a murderer!” Zhangjing proclaimed, hands on his hips. The father crouched down to his level, ruffled his locks, and smiles.

 

“I know kid.” He got up, and pushed Yanjun forward, causing him to stumble a bit. “Yanjun, play nice okay?” Yanjun stood there, processing what his father just said until he heard the slam of the door.

 

 Yanjun turned around so fast that Zhangjing feared his neck would snap. Yanjun rang the doorbell numerous times but the sounds from the drama that his father was watching drowned out the noise.

 

 Zhangjing stood there, observing the dejected look on Yanjun’s face. “Hey, let’s play hide-and-seek.”

 

 Yanjun warily raised his head, weighing the pros and cons— he had no choice left— and stood up from their doorstep, brushing off the imaginary dirt from his cargo pants.

 

 He cocked a smile, showing his dimples off. Zhangjing usually thought before he spoke, but the words spilled out of his mouth before he could say pizza.

 

 “You look better smiling.” Zhangjing ducked his head, afraid of what the other boy might think of him.

 

 Yanjun was stunned by the sudden compliment that Zhangjing dropped, and chuckled. He looped his arms with Zhangjing, and they walked to the park to play.

 

 From then on, they were inseparable. Yanjun followed wherever Zhangjing went. They played video games in Yanjun’s house and played baseball at the park.

 

 The weather forecast predicted rain, but when were their predictions ever right? Yanjun rapped on Zhangjing’s door, fixing his baseball cap.

 

 It didn’t take long before Zhangjing opened the door, and came out with his baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

 

 He flashed a smile, and Yanjun, young as he is, felt something wrong with his heart. _Cute_ , he thought.

 

 “Did I make you wait too long?” Zhangjing tilted his head, wondering why Yanjun’s face seemed redder than usual.

 

 Yanjun waved his hands frantically—unlike his usually composed self. Zhangjing lets out a breath of relief, and drags him off to the park.

 

 Zhangjing was dragging the head of the bat on the ground as they pass through their complex. Both of them fell into a silence, until Yanjun decided that he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

 He looks up at the sky— a bit cloudy but still bright. “The weather forecast said that it would rain.” Probably not the best conversation starter, but it was the effort that counted.

 

 “Don’t worry. If you ever get sick I’ll take care of you.” Yanjun’s eyes almost bugged out and he blushed, hearing Zhangjing say these carelessly as if it was just in his nature.

 

 Yanjun decided to release all this pent-up energy as he punched the baseball into his mitts repetitively.  “But what if you’re the one that gets sick?”

 

 Zhangjing was setting up in the opposing base, but the radiance of his smile still had the same effect on Yanjun as it did up close.

 

 “Well then, you’re going to take care of me.” He said this as he practiced swinging, and Yanjun hated how suave he is. He didn’t know what that emotion was called— accelerated heartbeats and sweaty palms.

 

 It’s all so foreign but his thoughts are interrupted by the pitter patter of the sudden shower. They haven’t started yet and the Gods have decided to rain on their parade— literally.

 

 He ran to Zhangjing’s side— it’s closer to shelter,

— grabbed his hands and ran to the sanctuary of the supermarket cloth canopy. It was curved and only 5 feet wide, but they still pressed their backs against the wall.

 

 Without hesitation, Yanjun checked to see if the store has opened but it’s still eight AM last he checked, and the store opens at ten.

 

 Their clothes were just a bit damp, due to Yanjun’s quick thinking, but he could still see Zhangjing shivering from the musty cold air.

 

 “Come here.” He directed, but he didn’t know where this newfound courage came from. Zhangjing scooted closer to him, and they lock eyes, almost like they were memorizing each other’s features until Yanjun decided to break the staring contest.

 

 Yanjun felt hot, and he worried about his health. He placed his palm on his forehead, trying to check for his temperature. Zhangjing shot him a curious look, and overlapped his hand onto his.

 

 “Your forehead is cool.” He said, then brought the back of his hand onto Yanjun’s cheeks. “But your cheeks are burning.” He chuckled, and Yanjun is reminded that Zhangjing has two years on him, and that two years seem so big.

 

 They rested their heads on the cool wall, and crouched down. “You know this reminds me of one drama my father used to watch.” Yanjun started, and he didn’t know what overcame him to be this chatty, but Zhangjing didn’t mind.

 

 Zhangjing’s attention was on him; their faces just inches apart. “There’s these two boys that like each other but they don’t know.” Zhangjing interrupted him, “it’s called a gay couple.”

 

 He ignored Zhangjing’s comment and continued on. “It was sunny, and flowers were in bloom. They were happily eating their lunch on the park, until it started raining. Then they scrambled to find cover, and they took shelter under this huge tree. Then the camera zooms to film them closer, and both of them confessed at the same time! They even kissed.”

 

 Yanjun finished, and he saw Zhangjing resting on his shoulder sleeping. He probably didn’t listen to the entirety of the story that Yanjun took efforts to tell, but it didn’t bother Yanjun.

 

 He smiled at Zhangjing’s resting figure, and looked straight ahead.

 

 They stayed like this until the rain stopped. Then Yanjun’s shoulders numbed, causing Zhangjing to wake up.

 

 On their way home, Zhangjing apologized profusely but it was no big deal to Yanjun. He hummed the whole walk home, and confused Zhangjing in the process.

 

 He got home at ten o’clock sharp, and his father had already prepared breakfast.

 

 “Dad, what’s gay?” His father was slurping coffee, and almost spit the hot substance out. “Why?” Then, after he saw that his son didn’t want to divulge any further, he answered.

 

 “It’s when two boys have a relationship or if they like each other. Why? Are you gay?” His father’s tone was not menacing, it was welcoming. He’s an open-minded person and he doesn’t mind who Yanjun will choose to love.

 

 Yanjun didn’t answer, only to find out after a couple of years that he’s bisexual, or the proper term— _Zhangjingsexual._

 

_——————————————————————_

 

**Poem No. 30:**

 

_The Gods had joined forces to create you,_

_Their final masterpiece._

_You are everybody’s muse,_

_And all these poems are pieces of you._

 

 Yanjun recalls the summer of their fourth grade— the first time he understood what jealousy meant.

 

 He was ten at that time, and he had just grown out of the “girls have cooties” phase. He had realized that it was accepted to love boys too, and you’re not restricted to loving the opposite sex.

 

 That summer was scorching hot, and Yanjun wished that he could have someone to talk with to take his mind off the heat— preferably Zhangjing.

 

 Speak of the devil and the devil shall come. Zhangjing would usually knock on the door thrice, and Yanjun would automatically know it’s him— like a signature.

 

 He opened the door, but the smile on his face slipped when he saw a taller guy standing behind Zhangjing.

 

 “This is Wenjun! He’s my new friend that I made from my singing lessons.” Ah, _singing lessons_. He begged his father to enroll him in the same class that Zhangjing took but his father was adamant on refusing him.

 

 “I know that you’d be bored minutes after you step inside the room.” His father knew him too well, but Yanjun knew that nothing is boring when Zhangjing was by his side.

 

 This was what Yanjun feared, that someone would take away his best friend place from Zhangjing’s life.

 

 He raised his head to examine Wenjun’s features and feltinsecure, wishing that he hadn’t done that. He’s perfect— tall, handsome, and not just the ordinary kind of handsome. He’s the type of face that you won’t ever get tired of.

 

 He sighed, dejected. Zhangjing didn’t notice, and proceeded to enter his house. Wenjun just stood outside, waiting for Yanjun to invite him in.

 

 Yanjun wanted to be rude but his father didn’t raise him up to be _that_ kid. He opened the door wider, allowing Wenjun to go in.

 

 Wenjun clapped his hands in delight and entered. He marveled about how clean the house was, his eyes widening at every spot he looked at.

 

 Yanjun thought that he must be a clean freak.

 

 The three of them headed up to Yanjun’s room, where his console was. They sat on the couch, legs dangling off the edge until Yanjun declared a match with Wenjun.

 

 It was stupid but what can a ten year old do? He believed that it was a match for Zhangjing’s hand, like those movies that his father would watch with him.

 

 “First one to reach the end wins.” They were playing Mario Kart— a classic— and Yanjun picked Luigi. _Shocker_.

 

 Wenjun picked Princess Peach and Yanjun couldn’t help but be inquisitive and asked, “why are you playing as a princess?”

 

 Wenjun looked at him with curiosity, and shot back another question at him. “Well, why can’t I?”

 

 Yanjun found it weird, why a guy would play as a girl, but decided not pry any further. He believed that he’d win anyways.

 

 Both of them grabbed the controller, leaving Zhangjing to watch the both of them. The two of them are in focus, forgetting that they’re still in the real world.

 

 Their avatars are bumping the edges, but still they recover. Princess Peach won by a long mile, and Wenjun jumps to his feet, pumping his fists in victory.

 

 Yanjun threw the controller in a hissy fit, and stomped out of his room. He sulked in the living room, with the blaring music from the television.

 

 His father must have had forgotten to turn off the television before going to work, but Yanjun felt too glum to do anything about it.

 

 Zhangjing was sneaky, and he went unnoticed by Yanjun as he climbed down the stairs. He surprised him, shouting from his back, and Yanjun yelled.

 

 “You scared me!” Yanjun said, as he placed a hand against his beating chest. Zhangjing laughed a little bit _too_ loud, causing Wenjun to join them, much to Yanjun’s dismay.

 

 Wenjun watched the two of them from atop the staircase, then after surveying if it was worth the steps, (“Yanjun looks so funny”) joined Zhangjing in laughing at Yanjun.

 

 Yanjun never got accustomed to Wenjun’s presence, feeling like he was intruding on Zhangjing and his’ shared moments.

 

 The both of them would always visit his house, everyday without fail— as if Yanjun’s house became their home— and Wenjun would always stand outside their doorstep, with a knowing smile until Yanjun widens the door crack allowing him to enter.

 

 This time Zhangjing was late, and only Wenjun showed up. He had a sheepish smile on, rubbing the back of his neck. “Zhangjing’s being detained by our teacher. He said that I should go first.”

 

 A groan escaped Yanjun’s lips but Wenjun didn’t hear it, or maybe he didn’t _care_. He was reluctant on inviting him in, but his father didn’t teach him manners for nothing.

 

 He trudged all the way up his room, sighing per minute. The two of them sit in opposite sides in an awkward silence; neither of them aren’t chatty— it’s always Zhangjing that glues them together, rattling off about various topics.

 

 Yanjun couldn’t stand this silence anymore and asked an innocent question, “do you like Zhangjing?”

 

 Without batting an eyelash, Wenjun answered. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?” Yanjun nodded in agreement, then catched himself.

 

_Wait, he likes him too? So is he my rival?_

 

 Yanjun’s mind had been muddled with the cliché storylines and greasy love stories that entertainment companies air, but their story wasn’t far from it.

 

 Yanjun remembered that one time he was commenting about the romcom his father was tuning into.

 

 “Isn’t this a cliché?” Yanjun tested the word out, proud of his vocabulary. Mr. Lin looked at him surprised, then sighs, trying to pick out the correct words to use.

 

 “It’s called a cliché because it always happens in real life.”

 

 Wenjun thinks about the proper way to say this, but just puts it out buntly. “Do you like him too?” His voice contained warmth, unlike the monotonous voice that he uses when addressing Yanjun.

 

 He shaked his head, and jutted out his chin proudly. “Well even if you do, I like him more.” Yanjun couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. It’s _atrocious_ to even think about someone else liking Zhangjing _more_ than he does.

 

 Yanjun clenched his fists to stop from punching Wenjun to a pulp. “You can’t like him more than I do.” He dug his nails into his palms, voice shaking from concealed anger.

 

 Wenjun snarled, almost in mockery. “Well I can, and I already did.” He was teasing him, and it worked.

 

 Yanjun stood up in anger, ready to throw fists. Then Zhangjing arrives, and the tense mood immediately disappears.

 

 He’s all-smiles, ignorant of the ugly scene that could’ve unfolded. The both of them give each other the side-eye before pasting a bright smile on their faces, greeting Zhangjing.

 

 “It’s good to see the both of you bonding.”

 

  _Bonding_. Well, if that's what Zhangjing wanted then that's what Zhangjing would get. He laid his arm around Wenjun’s shoulder, acting like they were good comrades.

 

 He nudged Wenjun to go along with it, shooting him a glance. Thankfully, Wenjun was quick on the update and went along with it.

 

 Wenjun muttered a small _hmm_ , and Yanjun nodded his head fervently.

 

 They looked like a bunch of fools, and acted like one. But seeing Zhangjing’s contented expression was all worth it, and he patted their heads like obedient dogs.

 

 It was a strange way to bond, but after that incident the two of them became close friends, but their rivalry stayed— but not with the same fire as before.

 

 While Yanjun was at the dinner table eating with his father, he explained the feelings that he experienced earlier.

 

 “ _I can’t stand the thought of Zhangjing being happier with someone else._ I don’t know why, but the thought eats me up. My heart did a weird thing, and I felt like I was choking on air.”

 

 His father just stared at him; he was trying to comprehend and bind everything that his son just said.

 

 “It’s called jealousy.” His father stared at the picture hanged on the wall. It was the wedding picture of Yanjun’s parents.

 

 Mr. Lin knew all too well what jealousy is— the pangs, the anger, the sadness, every stage of it— he’d experienced it first hand.

 

 Yanjun followed his father’s gaze on the photograph, and he notices how happy they looked.

 

 Looking at their house, it felt empty, devoid of a mother’s touch. His father’s king size bed, once the perfect size, seemed too uncomfortable that Mr. Lin had to sleep on the floor for several weeks before getting used to the idea that his wife was _gone_.

 

 In the midst of his mother’s departure, his father had to hold it in. Not once showing his feelings, showing a smile— but as Yanjun grew older he learned how to distinguish a copy from the real one.

 

 He reached over to Yanjun’s hands, massaging his knuckles. “If you love Zhangjing, don’t let him go.” His father’s voice held a certain maturity; a product of the wisdom he’d accumulated during all those tough times.

 

 It was their first heart-to-heart, and that was also the first time he saw his father cry. He vowed not to let Zhangjing get out from his grasp.

 

  _The world is too good for you, Zhangjing._ Yanjun would always say with a straight face. Zhangjing would put a hand on his mouth (“the proper way to laugh”), and ask him if he was serious.

 

 He’d reply yes without fail. _Every single time._

 

——————————————————————

 

**Poem No. 50:**

 

_We stand in the same place,_

_But why does it seem like we’re universes apart?_

_Is it because we do not walk at the same pace?_

_Or is it because of my foolish heart?_

 

 Yanjun recalled the moment he understood the true meaning of _longing_.

 

 He was 16— undergoing the stage of puberty— and there was Zhangjing, 18 and mature. It was time for Zhangjing to move on to bigger places (college) and leave Yanjun behind.

 

 Yanjun was in eleventh grade, and Zhangjing decided to move out of his parent’s place and live in his university’s dorm.

 

 “ _It’s more convenient this way_.” He remembered him saying, and for once Yanjun wanted to play the antagonist and prevent Zhangjing from leaving his side.

 

 It was the day before Zhangjing moved out, and he had already packed his belongings. Upon hearing this news from his father (“go get him boy”) he rushed to knock on their apartment door.

 

 It was a foreign feeling being in his house, usually they would just stay at Yanjun’s because his father was always out at work.

 

 Zhangjing’s mother beamed at him, and ushered him in. “Zhangjing’s upstairs.” It seemed like everyone was prepared for Zhangjing to move away, except him.

 

 He peeked at the opening of the door, and saw Zhangjing laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling listlessly.

 

 Yanjun went in, seating himself at the edge of his bed. Zhangjing acknowledges his presence but remains silent, which was very unlike him.

 

 They share a silence, Yanjun’s eyes taking in the interior of Zhangjing’s room— it’s the last time that he’ll be here with Zhangjing after all.

 

 “Say. Do you think that I should move out?”

 

 Yanjun snapped his head to look at Zhangjing, and sees nothing. His expression was blank, like he was drifting to a far-away land and sighed for the umpteenth time.

 

 Yanjun badly wanted to reveal his true feelings but he knew that this would be the wrong time, not when Zhangjing was still unsure about everything.

 

 “Up to you.” Zhangjing shot up, sitting straight and looked Yanjun dead in the eye. It had been a while since they’ve been in close proximity with each other.

 

 “Won’t you miss me?” Yanjun hears a smirk in his tone, and he decided that he worried for nothing. He punched Zhangjing’s shoulders lightly, and laughed.

 

 If Zhangjing moved to his dorm then Yanjun wouldn’t be able to spend moments like this with him for how many more years.

 

 “I would.” Zhangjing was taken aback, but laughed lightly.

 

 “I’ll miss all your jokes. If I moved away, but it’ll be such a hassle to drive back and forth from my house to uni.”

 

 Zhangjing noticed the ominous look on Yanjun’s face and he tried to lighten the mood.

 

 “You can come visit me. I’ll clear up my schedule to see you.” He teased the younger, but Yanjun had learned how to keep his emotions in check.

 

 He bopped his head, while Zhangjing started talking— re-energized— and Yanjun couldn’t help but feel empty. He’s going to miss Zhangjing’s laughter, how he talks his ear off, how he just _is_.

 

 Turns out Zhangjing’s university was for music, and he was very popular. Zhangjing always had someone around him, and whenever one of his friends asked him who he was, Yanjun wanted to punch them in the face saying “ _I’m going to be his husband!”_

 

Wenjun had one up on him, being in the same university as Zhangjing. “Lucky me, poor you.” He stuck out his tongue, while Yanjun willed himself not to sulk.

 

 “Zhangjing!” He was now at his university, and waved his hand enthusiastically to catch Zhangjing’s attention.

 

 Zhangjing was walking with a big group of people— everybody’s focus was on him, and Yanjun knew how it felt. Zhangjing’s just one of those people that you could _never_ get tired of.

 

 He still spotted Yanjun;  that was one thing that Yanjun _loves_ about him, he’ll always make you feel special, no matter who you are.

 

 Seeing Zhangjing smile made Yanjun’s trip there worthwhile. His friends have grown acquainted with Yanjun’s crush on Zhangjing, and left them together, winking at Yanjun.

 

 Yanjun linked arms with Zhangjing, dragging him to this new restaurant that just opened (“you’re going to _love_ it!”)

 

 The restaurant was well-lit, with cushioned velvet chairs and high ceilings, all in all it looked expensive. “Wow! Isn’t this expensive?”

 

 Yanjun’s pocket would be crying after this was over, each meal here would cost three figures (in dollars) but if it meant that he could see Zhangjing happily eating good food, then he’d take up all the summer jobs he could get.

 

 Yanjun looked down, hands in his pockets, his heels dug into the floor below him. “No, not at all.” He answered, smiling shyly.

 

 Zhangjing patted his back, he knew how much this place costed. He’d always pass by this place, checked the menu for the price (“it looked tasty, okay?”) and observe that all the patrons were loaded.

 

 He slung his arm over Yanjun’s shoulder and pointed to a quaint café that Zhangjing oftens. It reminded him of home, the warmth that he’d experienced.

 

 “Let’s go there.” He let go of Yanjun, and led the way. As they entered the shop, the bells chimed signalling that a customer came in.

 

 An auntie recognized Zhangjing and beamed at him. Zhangjing had _that_ kind of effect on everyone— he was just mesmerizing. “I’d become a regular here so auntie knows me.” He jerked a thumb to the lady that was cleaning the tables.

 

 Zhangjing knew the menu well, and ordered for the both of them. Once the dishes were served, Zhangjing’s phone rang. Zhangjing went outside to answer the call and Yanjun watched him from the inside.

 

 “I’m sorry Yanjun! I have to go, one of my friends need me.” He got some bills from his wallet and paid the lady, leaving him alone.

 

 The food tasted bland without Zhangjing. He was Yanjun’s happy pill, and he learned that he’d become this zombie, or more like a lifeless puppy when left by Zhangjing.

 

 Being with Zhangjing made Yanjun happy, to say in simpler terms. He loves Zhangjing with all his heart, and loves him more than he’d planned. He’s never been able to say the words “I love you” to him straight in the face, but he always did it when he wasn’t noticing.

 

 He had noticed his father and Zhangjing’s parents were rooting for the two of them together— _love is love_ , they would always say.

 

 Talking to his father after his dilemma with Zhangjing seemed to be his go-to move.

 

  _What do you call this feeling dad? I wake up in the middle of the morning, wanting to hold him in my arms only to be reminded that he isn’t mine, and that he isn’t here._

 

 His father thought that this was the effect of too much dramas, but in order to push his idiotic son to confess he had to endure these type of conversations.

 

“It’s called longing.” He wondered how his son passed all the years of high school without learning this specific word but emotions can’t be taught.

 

 It’s been years— eleven to be exact— since Yanjun’s mother left them. _Longing_. Mr. Lin never expected to feel that emotion, as he said their vows and exchanged rings.

 

 He never expected losing the one that he loved the most until reality waked him up, reminding him that the only thing he was holding onto were shadows— memories of her.

 

 “I miss your mother.” Yanjun missed his mom too. He remembered the feeling of loneliness, the feeling of _not being enough_ and he didn’t want to be _not enough_ for Zhangjing.

 

 He wanted to be _just right_ , the perfect person for him, because Zhangjing deserved nothing but perfection.

 

 He was his black swan— a sudden occurrence that would change his life forever. He didn’t expect that one day Zhangjing wouldn’t be here anymore, that he’d be somewhere further, with people that wasn’t _him_.

 

 Yanjun couldn’t imagine a future without him. It would be too scary, and the Gods would be too cruel to take away the miracle that they’ve bestowed him.

 

——————————————————————

 

**Poem No. 75:**

 

  _This is the only way I can express my devotion;_

_Pen in my fingers and ink spilled on papers._

_This is the only way I can express my devotion;_

_Preserving your entirety for all eternity._

 

 Yanjun feels stupid, looking at all these poems that he has written for Zhangjing. He’s three-fourths done, but he wishes he could just confess now.

 

 This is his plan— he’ll confess with a hundred poems, out of the blue. It’ll be somewhere special, like a scene out of the movies. It’s going to be _memorable._

 

He’s 20 years old, and like any regular person in their twenties, he’s struggling over university.

 

 Zhangjing’s in his final year, and entertainment companies are already lining up to sign his honey voice. _It’s such an honor_ , Zhangjing used to say after Yanjun would coo over his achievements.

 

 Yanjun doesn’t think that Zhangjing should take it as an _honor_ , because it’s what he _deserves_ . Yanjun thinks— no, he _knows_ that the world will fall for his mellifluous voice. Maybe he’d be another lightstick in the crowd, screaming Zhangjing’s name at the top of his lungs.

 

  _The thought of Zhangjing being a stranger to him kills Yanjun because he can’t imagine a world without his laugh, without his presence, and without him._

 

Yanjun remembered why he picked up a pen and compiled his thoughts in paper. He wanted to write a song for Zhangjing— for one of his competitions, but failed to deliver.

 

 Zhangjing didn’t think much of it, he thanked him for his efforts and still smiled at him. If Zhangjing knew how he has Yanjun under his thumb he would be laughing at you all day; he wouldn’t believe it.

 

 There was this one conversation that Wenjun briefed him.

 

 Wenjun and Zhangjing were preparing for a singing competition, and Zhangjing mentioned how good of a writer Yanjun is (one of the reasons why he started this _chapbook_ ). “Well then ask him for a song. That boy’s whipped for you.”

 

 Wenjun guffawed while saying this, expecting Zhangjing to laugh with him but all he got was a blank stare.

 

 “What do you mean Yanjun’s whipped for me?” Wenjun didn’t know whether Zhangjing is dense or simply chose not acknowledge the fact that Yanjun thinks the sun shines out of his ass.

 

 “Don’t you know?” He said in a teasing tone, licking his lips excitedly for Zhangjing’s reaction. He remained impassive, like the clogs in his brain were only starting to work after a long while.

 

 “He’s not whipped for me. We’ve just been friends for a long time.” Wenjun slapped his palm to his forehead, causing Zhangjing to be alert and worried.

 

 He even had the guts to ask _why_ , and in turn Wenjun wanted to ask _why_ ; if he really can’t see or he chooses not to see because of some fear haunting him, telling him that their friendship would be broken if he chooses to acknowledge the feelings he had hidden deep inside.

 

“I’d think about it when he confesses to me.” He left the room shortly after, humming along to a tune that Wenjun didn’t know— probably Malaysian.

 

 After a decade, everyone became hell-bent on pushing Zhangjing and Yanjun together, even Wenjun himself.

 

 _It’s just pointless to think about Zhangjing without you, or vice versa._ Yanjun thinks that’s an accurate description of his feelings, and couldn’t have worded it better.

 

 And then came this idea— why shouldn’t he write a hundred poems for Zhangjing? After all, it came out of Zhangjing’s mouth; he is a good writer.

 

 He was sitting in his dorm, and Wenjun visited him, laying on his bed. “I’m going to write 100 poems for Zhangjing.” Yanjun said proudly, pen already in his hands excited for his first verse.

 

 Wenjun stares at him like a goldfish; eyes wide open and mouth hanging— honestly he can catch flies like that. “And for what?”

 

 Yanjun smirked and waved his finger at him. “So when I confess it’s a sure bet. He’ll fall in love with me.”

 

 “Do you ever entertain the idea that both of you are dense and actually love each other?”

 

 Wenjun said the word _love_ so easily, like it didn’t hold any meaning. Yanjun just _wished_ that Zhangjing felt the same way, but he knew that would be too good to be true, and when night came Wenjun left, leaving Yanjun to sort out his thoughts.

 

 The first poem came out like liquid, it was too easy to write— he remembered their first meeting, the easiness he experienced.

 

 He didn’t think that he’d meet a stranger that would change his life. He also didn’t think that just because of a certain event his life would come crashing down in front of him.

 

 The fiftieth poem was the hardest one— he broke his own heart trying to convey his emotions into words. The process involved countless of papers crumpled, ink of pens dried up, and inspiration-less nights.

 

 It made Yanjun _think._ What would happen if the longing became _permanent_. If one day, Zhangjing wouldn’t just live further away. What if one day, God decided to take back one of his angels?

 

 Yanjun shakes his head, he must not think about these things. Life is still long, and Zhangjing still has achievements to accomplish.

 

 He picks up his drafts— wrinkled, but still containing all of his heart’s emotions. He wonders if Zhangjing would even take him seriously, that after these 100 poems (“if I’ll ever finish it”) they’d be living together.

 

**Draft 1: (This is not a poem)**

 

_This is not a poem._

_This is a collection of the words that I have not yet said._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_Do you love me too?_

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_Do I hold a space in your heart?_

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I say it three times, like a signature._

_Three knocks means I love you._

_This is not a poem._

 

 Yanjun sighs, leaning back on his chair. It’s already night time and he still has no inspiration. His first draft is rubbish— who was he to infer that every time Zhangjing knocked when they were children meant I love you?

 

 Maybe it was just out of random. Three times didn’t necessarily have to spell out I love you.

 

**Draft two: (Voicemails that I have left for you)**

 

_Do you miss me like I miss you?_

_I need you to be honest._

_Do you miss me? Because I do, I fear that I’m running out of words and choking on air._

_Do you miss me? I thought that the world was caving in without your presence._

_Do you miss me? All I could think about was that one rainy morning when we were kids, and I just imagined if that happened when we were adults. Would I have the courage to kiss you?_

_Do you miss me? I don’t think the ramblings of my head are going to stop until I see you._

_Do you miss me? Because I won’t miss me either._

 

 A tear slid Yanjun’s cheek, and he smiled. The writing was a bit off, but up to this day he still holds the same sentiments.

 

 He wanted to come out of his dorm, drive to Zhangjing’s and do a grand proclamation outside his room. Of course, he would never have the courage to do this.

 

 He wishes that he’s someone else, someone easier to love— maybe Zhangjing would’ve been his if he was.

 

 The negative thoughts are eating him up, and he provokes it even more. _If Zhangjing saw you like this do you think that he’ll love you? Of course he won’t. He deserves someone better. Someone who isn’t you._

 

 He is his greatest enemy, and Yanjun doesn’t know how this started and how depression intruded his life, and made a home out of his broken self.

 

 He snaps out of his thoughts when his phone lights up. It was a message from Zhangjing. “What would you do if I’d be gone tomorrow?”

 

 He grabs his phone, unsure if what he read is correct, then another one comes through. “Just a rhetorical question. A _what if_ , be honest :)”

 

 If honesty is what he wants, it’ll be too much for him to handle. Yanjun would take him away, kiss him for the first time, hold him in his arms— whisper in his ear that he’s _his_.

 

 He’s going to say _I love you_. Fuck the hundred poems, the insecurities and doubts. He knows from experience that in a battle there will always be a winner and a loser, and he’s not going to be in the losing side.

 

 “Don’t kid with me Zhangjing. If you do maybe I’ll cry, if you beg of it.” He texts back; his thoughts wreck havoc upon his soul but the words that slip through doesn’t compare.

 

 “Don’t cry. If I die— just if, smile. Tell jokes in my place, and publish a book. You’ll be good at it.” Yanjun chuckles a bit, it’s like Zhangjing knows exactly when he’s delving into the darkness.

 

 He dives to his bed, clutching his phone to his chest— this way he can hug Zhangjing. He knows it’s foolish, he’s only tricking himself like this but for now he’ll have to settle, until he can have the real thing in his arms.

 

 He drifts off to sleep, phone in his arms and Zhangjing in his heart.

 

**Draft 3: (What is love?)**

 

_I do not know how you make me feel this way. You make everything that I’ve felt, everyone that I loved feel like a trial and error._

_I do not know how you make me feel this way. Butterflies in my stomach and your existence occupying my thoughts._

_I do not know how you make me feel this way, that from our first meeting we are meant to be._

_I don’t know why, but I guess this is what poets call love, because if it is anything else then what is love?_

 

——————————————————————

 

**Poem 99:**

 

  _I’m terrified of you._

_I’m terrified that you hold this much power over me. That if one day you decided to leave me, I wouldn’t be able to take it._

_I’m terrified that one day, I’m going to be married to someone else and when it’s time to say “I do”, I won’t, because I’m waiting for you to barge in the church doors and claim me as yours._

_I’m terrified that one day, you’ll be gone._

_I’m terrified to admit this but I’ve built my world around you, and if the time comes and you do reject me, I wouldn’t know how to start again._

_I’m terrified that the fates weaved our strings to meet, but not to end up together._

_I’m terrified of losing you._

 

 And so it starts. Every ride has it’s ups and downs but Yanjun thinks that that’s just bullshit. He thinks that it’s utter _nonsense_ when he receives a call from Wenjun a week later telling him that Zhangjing’s been hospitalized.

 

 Yanjun thinks about the text message that Zhangjing has sent him. Was he forewarning about something? He put on decent clothes, and took a cab all the way to the address Wenjun sent.

 

 His nose wrinkles at the smell of disinfectant. He hates the stench that hospital gives off; it reminds him of death.

 

  _Death._ Zhangjing won’t die, he’s a fighter. Yanjun’s sure of it. But when he reaches Zhangjing’s room and sees his pale color, it seems too real. He thinks once again, and remembers that death doesn’t pick anyone, and the kind die young.

 

  He _knows_ because he saw his father kneeling down, burrowing his face into his arms and crying his heart out in front of his mother’s casket. He knows how hard it is, and even if he didn’t hold much emotional connection to his mother, he understands the hurting of his father.

 

 No matter how much someone hurts you, as long as you love them, you’ll keep coming back. Yanjun thinks that the heart is a strong organ, that no matter how many times you go through difficulties it still manages to _beat_.

 

 He sits by Zhangjing, and it seems like old times. Being with Zhangjing feels like _home_ , and it takes Yanjun back to when they were six and Zhangjing would always be sleepy, claiming that his head hurts— Yanjun thought that it was just an excuse for him to rest his head on his shoulder.

 

 He beats himself up for it now. The doctors told him that it was brain aneurysm, and the early symptoms were constant headaches.

 

 Memories flood Yanjun and he remembers how Zhangjing would grimace once in a while, claiming it was nothing until he couldn’t bear the pain anymore, and had no other choice but to tell Yanjun about the pounding pain in his head.

 

 He wants to punch a wall, or better yet kill himself. How could he have not noticed? _How?_ Was he too engrossed in himself; in this perfect idea of Zhangjing that the thought didn’t once cross him?

 

 Reality serves the truth cold. If he was just a better friend, maybe this didn’t happen. Maybe if he had just insisted, if he had cared more and noticed more, Zhangjing wouldn’t be laying on a hospital bed.

 

 “He only has a month to live.” Yanjun panics. _A month?_ The world has come crashing down and only he wasn’t informed of it.

 

 Zhangjing wakes up, a little bit drowsy from the drugs that they’ve injected them with. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” He says in a soft tone.

 

 He grabs a chair and sits beside Zhangjing. “Why not? Of course I will be.” Zhangjing stares at him, observing Yanjun, and he feels a bit self-conscious. Did he look ugly? He was in a hurry to arrive here.

 

 Zhangjing notices— the mismatched clothes and how his hair sticks up. His heart warms at how Yanjun disregards his appearance to rush over here, knowing that Yanjun prioritizes his looks over everything. _He threw all that away for me?_

 

 Yanjun has a bright idea. He’d been collecting jokes that he thinks would be funny just to show Zhangjing. Before this, comedy wasn’t at the top of his list. He prefers heart-wrenching dramas, and chill music.

 

 He’ll learn how to deliver jokes for Zhangjing. He even included a few pick-up lines. “Hey, Zhangjing. Ask me if I’m all right.”

 

 Zhangjing is clearly puzzled on why he’ll say that but he complies. “Are you all right?” He sees Yanjun’s dimples surfacing, and he smiles too. Seeing Yanjun happy makes Zhangjing at ease.

 

 If Zhangjing was Yanjun’s happy pill, then Yanjun is Zhangjing’s comforter.

 

 “No, I’m all left.” Yanjun smacks his knee in delight, marveling at his own genius. Zhangjing laughs, not the ha-ha kind, but the bursting laughter and Yanjun’s heart swells in pride.

 

 He loves seeing Zhangjing’s eyes turn to crescents, and how he emits the most wonderful laugh he’s ever heard— sincere, and not a bit of mockery. Yanjun thinks that these are a few of the reasons why he loves Zhangjing. He’s just beautiful in _every way._

 

“That’s such a dad joke, Yanjun. Where the heck did you get that?” Zhangjing’s voice echoes throughout the hospital room, light and airy. Yanjun wonders if by the next week he’ll still be like this. He hopes so.

 

 “From the internet, where else? I’m not that creative you know.” Zhangjing tries to stifle his laugh, and Yanjun looks at him curiously.

 

 “You are creative. Don’t down yourself, you’re the best writer I know.” Yanjun blushes, and for one second it didn’t seem like they’re in a hospital room, it feels like they’re back in Yanjun’s house, playing video games and discussing about their future.

 

 Yanjun misses those times. If he has a penny for every time he wants to go back to the past he’ll be rich now. He blames himself for _so many_ things, and Zhangjing’s the only silver lining in his life.

 

 He can’t fuck this up, if Zhangjing only has one month to live then he’ll make that month the best month he’ll ever have.

 

 Every day, he goes to the hospital and at some times he waits for Zhangjing to wake up and at other times Zhangjing’s back is already rested against the pillows of his bed, waiting for him with a smile.

 

 Without fail Zhangjing will ask how his day was, and Yanjun will always answer “good now that I’m with you.” They both chuckle at Yanjun’s corniness, but Yanjun has adopted this trait to make Zhangjing smile.

 

 Yanjun stays uptil visiting hours are over, and they passed the time by talking about _wishes_. Zhangjing wishes to be able to become a full-fledged singer.

 

 “But I know that it’s just going to be a dream.” His stare feels far-away even if they’re just side by side. Yanjun wishes that Zhangjing be given another chance, the world needs to know what they’re missing out on.

 

  _Of all people, why Zhangjing?_

 

He wants to see Zhangjing in a tux, and they’ll be meeting at the altar, exchanging their vows. He doesn’t want to think that this won’t happen anymore, that instead of a wedding he’ll go to a funeral, and instead of the altar it’ll be a casket and instead of wedding vows it’ll be an eulogy. He just _can’t_.

 

 So he decides to finish his chapbook. He pours all of the _what-if’s,_ the _would-be_ , the _fears_ and _dreams_ into his writing, because he’s going to be positive. He’s going to accept this— just like Zhangjing will.

 

 He’ll seize the moment, he’ll confess this month and maybe by some miracle Zhangjing will recover— like a fairy tale.

 

  _But who says that it’s true love?_

 

So Yanjun’s at the hospital again, like clockwork, and he observes that Zhangjing is asleep— he’s been blessed with looks, his hair framing his face just the right way. The steady rising and falling of his chest reassures Yanjun; there’s still hope of a tomorrow.

 

 He sits by him, trying to find the perfect words for his last poem. This should be _it_ , he thinks, the one that will let Zhangjing cry in joy as he reads it.

 

 Zhangjing wakes up, and sees Yanjun staring at the screen of his laptop and laughs softly. It’s cute how Yanjun’s brows furrowed in concentration, Zhangjing finds his little quirks endearing.

 

 If an outsider views this scene, they’ll reach to this conclusion: they’re in love, but the both of them don’t know it— the greatest tragedy in the world.

 

 Yanjun is startled; and closes his laptop. He doesn’t want Zhangjing to know about his little project just yet. He places his laptop by Zhangjing’s bedside table, and inches his seat closer to him.

 

 “What’s funny?” Zhangjing shakes his head, but still continues laughing. Yanjun tickles him, and the two of them share a moment, and stare at each other. What did they find? Was it the fragility of their soul, or do they find stardust in each other’s being?

 

 “Nothing. You’re cute.” Zhangjing says, after admitting his defeat. Yanjun ruffles his hair, even after all this years Zhangjing still has the same effect on him.

 

 “If I’m cute then are you a unicorn?” Zhangjing has grown accustomed to this lame pick-up lines, and continues it by saying why.

 

 “Because you’re so fluffy I want to die.” Yanjun hugs Zhangjing, too caught up in the moment, and it’s the first time they’ve hugged in ages. Yanjun’s heart is bursting out of his ribcage, afraid that Zhangjing will pull back but he just hugs him back, even _tighter_.

 

 Needless to say, even if you ask him ten years from now what his favorite moment is, he’ll relay to you the time he hugged Zhangjing, with no hesitation.

 

 One week is left, and the expiration date is looming closer and closer. The grim reaper’s scythe is just a few hairs away from collecting Zhangjing.

 

 Zhangjing has grown weaker, paler and he’s bedridden now, his legs too weak to function. But he was still the same bright and radiant boy that appeared on his doorstep fourteen years ago. Time flies by so fast, who would guess that this’ll happen?

 

 Zhangjing would always paste a smile on his face whenever one of his friends visit him, but when he and Yanjun are left alone he drops his act and Yanjun _notices_.

 

 Was Zhangjing’s face this sunken? Was he this thin a day ago? His eyes look tired, devoid of life. To Zhangjing, Yanjun was the only thing keeping him alive. He’s the only reason why he’s fighting.

 

 One time Yanjun caught Zhangjing crying, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe his tears away. He wishes that he can tell him that it’ll be okay, but it’ll be in vain because he himself know that it _won’t_. Sugarcoated words don’t bring any comfort to a dying person.

 

 It’s not that he’s given up hope, it’s just that he knows better than to hold on to a rope that’s already been cut. The only thing he can do is be with Zhangjing; to be his happy pill because God knows how much Zhangjing helped him in his dark times.

 

 Zhangjing spends most of times sleeping, his schedule not matching with Yanjun anymore. _The headaches are getting too much. Sorry Yanjun_. He explains, but he shouldn’t be sorry.

 

 Yanjun thinks that he should be the one sorry. He’s been too lacking, if only he can drop out of college to take care of him for just this month he will.

 

  “I love you.” He says, and it’s the first time he said these words aloud— sincerely and full of emotion. (Aside from his father) He touches Zhangjing’s locks, and pecks his cheeks.

 

 He knows that he won’t have anymore chances, but if he had a machine that would enable him to travel in time, he’ll tell his past self to _fuck the poems and confess_. He’ll hug Zhangjing, kiss him and lay in the same bed with him everyday, because he won’t know when will be the last day.

 

 But it’s too late, and wishful thinking doesn’t get you anywhere. Zhangjing wakes up minutes later, eyes droopy from sleep. He rubs his eyes, and reaches out for Yanjun’s hands.

 

 “Promise me.”

 

 Yanjun pretends to think, then fake sighs. “What is it?”

 

 “Publish a book. For me. I want everyone to know about your talents.”

 

 “The world won’t be able to handle me.” _I want everyone to know about your talents. Why is God so unfair? Seven billion people in this world and he chooses to take you from me._

 

Zhangjing does a mocking laugh. “Haha. Seriously. Consider it my…” he trails off, the words too hard to say. “Dying wish.”

 

 Yanjun wants to slap Zhangjing. _Dying wish? He can hear the words from doctors, from other people but not from Zhangjing himself._

 

“What if I told you that I already have one? And it’s all for you?” _Too bad it’s one poem short. Too bad that you won’t know how I feel. Too bad that all my fears will turn into reality. Too bad that I was too much of a wuss to confess early on._

 

The chuckle he gives made Yanjun mesmerized. _Ah. His laugh. I’ll miss this._

 

“Well then don’t show me. Publish it when I’m gone. I want people to remember me, maybe as your best friend? I’m sure that you gave me justice in your book.”

 

 “Of course I did. What do you think of me?” _More than a best friend. You’re the one that got away. You’re my happy pill. You’re my biggest regret. You’re life itself._

 

“Something more than a best friend. I won’t say it, I don’t want to see you crying at my deathbed.” His tone is light but his words are serious and Yanjun knows from the way his eyes prickle with tears that he wants to be selfish too, that he clings on to life. That he _loves him too_.

 

 “I won’t cry. I promise. I—” Zhangjing hushes him and smiles.

 

 “I know. I don’t want to leave this world with more regrets than I have now.” _But if I don’t say I love you won’t you regret it more?_

 

“I love you.”

 

 The corner of Zhangjing’s eyes crinkles— he expected this. “I know. I love you too.”

 

 A few moments more, God has gained another angel. Yanjun thinks that _at least I’ve confessed_ , but the tears won’t stop falling. _I’m sorry Zhangjing, I can’t help it._

 

 School didn’t prepare Yanjun for this. Nothing can prepare you from losing the person you love most. _Is this how it feels? One moment you’re devoid of emotion, numb, and then the next minute you feel your heart clenching, as though squeezing all the blood in your body and you just break— anger, sadness and longing all into one._

 

He had left peacefully, Yanjun holding Zhangjing’s hand, kissing it while Zhangjing looks at him lovingly, with a bittersweet smile.

 

  _He regrets not saying his feelings sooner. Both of them does. If only they knew it wouldn’t last, would they say I love you a couple more times?_

 

——————————————————————

 

 Flashes of the camera blind Yanjun as he goes to his book signing event. The reporters are crowding around him, eager to interview the hottest YA writer around.

 

 One reporter shoves a microphone in front of Yanjun’s face. “Mr. Lin! What’s your inspiration for your best-selling book?” He moves his shades down, trying to get a good look on who asked the question in the midst of voices.

 

 “My life.” The reporters begin jotting down his statement in their notepads, murmuring incoherent words.

 

 “Can you elaborate on that?” Yanjun sighs, brushing a hand through his hair.

 

 “He was my childhood friend. My first crush. My first and last love. The first person I told I love you to, with the exemption of my father. My happy pill. The one who motivated me to pursue this career. The one who believed in me. Life itself. Is that enough for you?”

 

 For once, the reporters shut up, giving Yanjun a chance to leave them and enter the building. He sees the fans lining up, with an excited and hopeful look on their faces and smiles. _Thank you Zhangjing._

 

 One fan after another approaches him, holding the book tightly in their chest and commenting about how they loved his books, and which line was their favorite.

 

 He looks up at the next in line, spots the familiar brown locks, long eyelashes and was taken aback, for a second he thought it was Zhangjing.

 

 “Mr. Lin! I’m such a huge fan.” He’s taken aback by the kid’s appearance— he must have only been fifteen, at best.

 

 He shakes his hand,  looking at his eyes he feels a sense of familiarity. “I love the title— 100 Poems for YZJ. Is he your boyfriend?”

 

 He looks down at his pen and twirls it between his fingers. _He could’ve been._

 

 He flashes him a sad smile. “No, but I loved him— I’m sorry, wrong tense. Love him. I still love him.” _Just because Zhangjing’s dead doesn’t mean he’s not living on in someone’s life. He still has the same impact on Yanjun._

 

The kid’s mouth forms an O shape, shocked. He knows that whoever Yanjun was talking about died— it says in the author’s notes.

 

 “After all this time?”

 

 Yanjun replies without hesitation—“Always.”

 

——————————————————————

 

   Zhangjing sat in the hospital, contemplating about life. He’ll miss Yanjun. He’ll miss his parents. He’ll miss being a singer; when opens his mouth and start to sing others look at him in admiration ( _“wow”)_.

 

 He decided to leave the world without any regrets. He’s going to say everything his heart desires— Yanjun. He picked up a pen, and asked the nurse for some paper.

 

 He wasn’t a good writer like Yanjun, but it didn’t _matter_. What mattered is that the message will get across, and it did.

 

 Zhangjing spent numerous nights trying to think of what to say, and in the midst of writing he shed buckets of tears, making his head ache even more.

 

 He would spend the day with Yanjun, pasting a smile on his face even if he’s tired, and he knows by the way Yanjun would furrow his brows, he notices.

 

 Then at night, he desperately pours the words he can’t say. _If you knew that it would be our last date, would’ve you taken me out for more? Probably. Probably not._

 

 He entrusted this important package to Wenjun. _Give it only when he published a book. The book he’s been working on for these past few years._

 

 He knew about the hundred poems— it was one poem too short because Yanjun juggled going to the hospital and his studies. He felt like a burden in that way, but Yanjun would always show him his perfect teeth, and say _for you, it’s nothing._

 

The thing he didn’t know was that it’s all love letters dedicated to him. Ninety-nine of them. But if he knew would it make any difference?

 

 Yanjun received the letter, after the fansign. Wenjun excused himself, (“i don’t want to see your ugly face while crying”) and he opened the letter slowly, as if it’s dear to him. _And it is._

 

“Lin Yanjun. It’s been a long time since I called you by your whole name. Well, a proper goodbye needs a proper addressing, don’t you think?

 

 He was bursting with emotions, and when he thought he couldn’t cry anymore, he did.

 

 “Here are my other names for you— My life. My author. My comforter. The person who was by my side. The person who believed in me no matter what happened. The person who cheered me up when things got tough. In short, _you are my everything._

 

 _“_ Let’s backpedal a bit, to our first meeting. I remember you as this cranky little boy that wouldn’t invite me in their house. Now you scramble to open the door for me, isn’t it funny how things change as time passes?

 

 Yes it is, Yanjun thinks. _It’s funny how someday someone unexpectedly comes into your life and makes you feel complete. Then the next moment they aren’t, and you can’t even imagine the world before them._

 

 “We got along quite well, always hanging around in your room and at the park. Do you remember that rainy day? I fell asleep on you while you were telling the story about the gay couple. At that time, I already knew what love meant. I wanted it _with you._

 

 “As we grew older, your attitude towards me changed. You grew more kinder, and would succumb to my whims. But I also love the cranky, playful you. It doesn’t matter which actually, I love you for _you._

 

“To be honest I was jealous of Wenjun because he always got to hang around with you. He confessed to me before you, you know? You’re lucky that a catch like me chose to love you.

 

  _Yes. I know that I’m lucky. I don’t know what you saw in me, and uptil now I still can’t believe you love me too._

 

“But it doesn’t matter how many people confessed to me (there was a lot, mind you), you’re the only one I want. From the first moment I saw you, I can imagine our life together.

 

  _I can also imagine waking up to you, every morning, telling you that the world is too good for you. Always. I wake up to an empty bed now, but my heart won’t— will not forget you._

 

“I’m sorry Yanjun. I wasn’t _enough._ If I was, then I could’ve prevented this and we would’ve have a happy ending. I guess this is the world’s saying that we aren’t meant to be.

 

 Yanjun pounds his fists against the table, and lets out a guttural scream. He’s crying, snot running— he doesn’t care. No matter how everyone thinks, he still believes. _He believes that there is no one else for him but Zhangjing._

 

 “You’re the reason why I kept fighting, why I still had my smile on in my dying moments. I’ll look after you now Yanjun, be happy with someone else. Make someone else chuckle with your jokes— put it to good use.

 

 “Love someone else like you did with me. Don’t restrict yourself, please. Have the life you want, even if I’m not in the picture. Learn how to _live without me_.

 

  _No. I’ll live with you Zhangjing. I’ll live for you._

 

“I want to see you smile, even if it’s not _with me._ Even if it’s not _because of me_. Your happiness will forever be the most precious thing in this universe. To Yanjun’s future boyfriend, if you dare to make him cry or stressed, I’ll haunt you.

 

 He laughs, wiping his tears. It’s very _Zhangjing-style_.

 

 “Take him to concerts, to dances. Introduce him to your parents, he’ll surely make your parents proud. My parents were, and we weren’t even dating. Do everything that I couldn’t with him.

 

 “And Yanjun, don’t be a pain to his ass okay? Remember that I’m still here for you. And to repeat your favorite line, the world is too good for you. Am I joking? No. Do I love you? _Always._ ”

 

 “Turn to the back of this paper. I completed your collection of poems for you. I’m not a poet, but I did my best. This is the end of my life, the end of my letter. But this is just the beginning of yours. I’m just a chapter in your book, but I hope I was an important part.”

 

  _You weren’t just a chapter. You were the whole thing. You’re all the excerpts that I wish to write. You’re my birthday wish. You’re God’s blessing to me. You’re you. And as far as I know, “Zhangjing” to me means the love of my life._

 

He turned the paper over, and he sees Zhangjing’s familiar writing. He must have had a hard time writing this— the paper had a lot of scribbles and erasures.

 

  **Poem 100:**

 

               _Three words. Eight letters._

_Said too late, shown too early._

_I love you._

_Always._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! I hope that all of you shed a tear because I did. Hope you all have a good day, and don’t forget to take the chance while you still have it! Also did you notice the snape reference lmao this was supposed to be inspired by lily and snape’s love story  
> Cc: sydneycai  
> Twt: @lilsydneycai


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